Reparations
by GreyEyedDetective
Summary: Takes place right after Scarlett. Scarlett is desperate to make amends for her past actions, especially with Rhett. But when she becomes determined to carry a baby she should never have, she must face life's reparations.
1. Chapter 1

**Reparations**

**Chapter One**

* * *

_MAY 1876_

_ABOARD THE _BRIAN BORU

Sometimes she felt like this was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Harder than fleeing Atlanta during Sherman's raid. Harder than shooting that Yankee deserter: she had done that in self preservation. Harder than witnessing Pa's, or Bonnie's, or Melly's, or Charles's, or even Colum's deaths. Harder than Cat's birth: there had been joy there, from the pain. Even harder than telling Rhett of his daughter's existence. This was a new terror, not an old one.

She was returning to Charleston and the accusing eyes of Charlestonian high society. The tough exterior she had cultivated from horrible life experiences had been stripped away by the gentle, unexpected love of her little daughter. This love had changed Scarlett, undoubtedly. It had left her damn vulnerable.

Scarlett's little family was making the two week journey back to America in a comfortable suite aboard the _Brian Boru_. The suite had three chambers- two bedrooms and a living quarter for breakfast and such. They were spacious and lavish, almost too lavish for the recently simplified tastes of Scarlett. No matter how many times she was hailed as the toast of the Season, whether in Dublin or in London, Ireland had changed Scarlett's extravagant tastes for good. Probably for the better.

"Have you written to your mother?"

"Hm?" responded Rhett absently as he watched Cat play doctor to the big china doll she had gotten for her second birthday.

"Have you written to your mother? About us?" repeated Scarlett from her writing table. Ashley and Harriet had sent a picture of their tiny blonde daughter, Melanie Claire, who had been born the month before. "Can you believe she calls herself Hattie now?" giggled Scarlett.

"Yes, I suppose I can believe it. I haven't met the second Mrs. Wilkes as of yet," smiled Rhett. "And as for my mother... I told her that I was returning from Ireland and would be there sometime next week."

"So no mention of me... or of Cat?"

"I thought a little surprise would be a good in our... how shall I say it... _delicate _situation. It would be one hell of a mess to try to explain any of this to Mother via my telegram."

"So you get to tell her face to face."

"_We_ get to tell her, my pet." Scarlett shuttered a little bit. "What, are you afraid of Mother?" teased Rhett gently.

"I love Miss Eleanor, I really do, and I've told you that," she countered, "but the whole situation is a little crazy. Cat, sweetheart, do mama a favor and fetch the papers from my black bag." The child bobbed her head and abandoned her doll.

"You really are afraid," said Rhett, "if it's so bad that you would send Cat away." She nodded, and he laid his hands heavily on her shoulders. They were warm, and strong, and for that moment, at least that moment, she thanked God that she had given him the one thing he loved most in this world. Even if she could have no more children, at least they would have Cat. Cat to bind them together when things got rough again. Like they should have had Bonnie.

She hadn't told him. There was so much left to tell him. Bitter things, like that she couldn't give him any more babies, and how much it still hurt her that he had pushed her away. Happy things, like how Cat's face was so brown Scarlett still thought of her as her little pirate baby, and how she had been able to meet her namesake, her grandmother, when she never thought she would see that day. Suddenly Scarlett felt overwhelmed with these memories. His face was on her neck, breathing heavy on her, and she panicked, pushing his hands from her shoulders. "No."

"What's wrong, my love?" Rhett said, huskily.

"I'm sorry," she faltered, "I just can't." She turned away and shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Cat, honey, where are you?"

"Here, Mama," giggled the little voice from the next room.

"Oh, Cat, what are you doing?" said Scarlett, shriller than she intended. The child was surrounded in the papers, finding it more fun to fling them than to bring them to her mother. Holding back the bubble of anger and annoyance that was building inside of her, she coaxed, "Why don't you go with Rhett on deck and see if you can spot land yet."

"America," she said plainly.

"Yes. Do you remember what it looked like? Remember, we went with Bridie to see Maureen and Jamie in Savannah." Rhett developed a pained expression, but Scarlett failed to notice it.

She puckered her forehead. "No."

"Yes, Cat, darling. Now go find your boots so mama can help you with them." Cat nodded vigorously and made haste to her own bedroom.

"I'll tell you something, Rhett Butler, your daughter sure knows how to make a mess," said Scarlett sourly as she stooped to reclaim the papers. "Makes me miss having servants. But it's just as well; I could use the exercise, cooped up inside this silly old boat. It's really not like sailing at all," she jibed.

He ignored the reference. "Scarlett, you know it's raining. I'm sure it would be no fun for Cat to stand out in the weather to look for something she won't find for another week."

"It's raining?" said Scarlett as she peeked out of the small porthole window. "No it's not, Rhett. That's more of a mist." She turned to him with a fierce expression. "Do you think my good Irish baby is bothered by a little damp weather? That's no Mid-Atlantic storm, or even a good sea breeze. It's maybe drizzle at most. Honestly, Rhett," she huffed.

"Well, as long as she's got your gumption then I suppose it will be all right for me to take her out. But what will you do while we're gone, my dear?"

"I don't know, Rhett, just reorganize these papers, and then try to write a letter to Suellen for Wade and Ella. I figure they'd be happy to meet a new sister."

"You mean your own children don't know where you've been for the past five years?"

"Not any more than you did, Rhett. I couldn't risk it- you finding out where I was, that is. I'm not a bad mother, I'm not. I made every plan for them to come join me at Ballyhara until I saw how happy they were at Tara. In fact, the only people besides Henry Hamilton that know where I've been are my O'Hara cousins in Savannah."

"Come on, Rhett," said Cat's small voice impatiently. Rhett flinched. He did this every time he heard Cat's insistent little voice that sounded like Bonnie's only with a touch of brogue. The fact that she still called him 'Rhett' and not 'Daddy' only added to this pain. Despite Miss Eleanor's prediction that another baby would fix the hole in his heart, Cat seemed only to widen this hole.

"Wait a moment, Cat; I need to do your boots." Little Cat stood regally while her mother crouched down to use the buttonhook. Rhett found himself snickering at the way Cat had taken to lording over her mother of late. The tension was eased, at least for that moment.

Rhett and his small companion left the suite, each trying to best each other in their exiting flourishes. Scarlett chuckled patronizingly, and returned to the task of sorting her papers.

Among them was a large, unopened envelope in a familiar, firm hand. Scarlett had desperately avoided opening the letter, and had put it off for a week now with a great deal of guilt. She had received it in Galway, from a man that she knew not by name but by reputation as a Fenian. I guess I have to do this, she thought, and tore it open with shaking fingers.

_Scarlett aroon,_

_You can never know how much it pains me to place my pencil to this paper and bare my soul to you. At least I know that you will never know the falsehoods I have had to tell you, for your own good, until I am gone to God. I must assume that you know now that when I claimed that all Fenian activity in Ballyhara had ceased, I only said that to make all of this a little easier for you, Scarlett darling. It was a lie, and a terrible one for any man, much less a priest._

_Now that I am gone, for I must surely be gone, I want to confess something besides my lies. I have loved you more than an "almost-brother," more than any priest should love a woman. Truth be told, I am smitten with you, though I dare not confess it to your face. I never expected it, never wanted it. It nearly drove me to insanity, this unwanted, unprovoked love. From what you've told me, I'm not the first poor lost soul to fall to your Siren's gaze. I may take comfort in that._

_I wanted you to know that so that you would never doubt that I always did what was best for you when I could. Ireland came first, and you understood that. At least you did when you gave us your money for our cause._

_Enclosed with this letter are a few sheets from Uncle Daniel's bible, which was passed on to me. They provide an accurate listing of the O'Hara family two hundred years back from our grandfather, Old Katie Scarlett's husband. I hope that you notice that I have added your sister Suellen's children as well as your own children to the tree. The next time anyone, Charlestonian or otherwise, questions your bloodline, you might proudly prove to them that the O'Haras are truly descendents of the kings of Ireland._

_So dear, darling Cousin Katie Scarlett, I bid you farewell, and hope that this final letter finds you and my goddaughter Cat in good health and a safe home._

_Yours always,_

_Colum_

"Oh, oh, my poor Colum," sniffed Scarlett as she broke down into her pillow. I never guessed, not in a million years, that he felt anything towards me except friendship and loyalty. Poor Colum! She scrambled for the envelope and withdrew several sheets of yellowed vellum, each scrawled in pencil with various O'Hara hands the names of her ancestors. And her descendents. In Colum's familiar hand, beneath 'Katie Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler' was "Wade Hampton,' 'Ella Lorena,' 'Eugenia Victoria "Bonnie",' and 'Katie Colum "Cat".'

I'll copy them, she thought, into a nice ledger, so that I can show them even when the vellum is illegible. "Oh, what a wonderful gift you've left me, Colum," she said out loud. She looked good and close at the first entries. "They're in Gaelic," she murmured, disappointed. "And nobody I know even speaks that, much less reads it. Oh, bother it all, I'll copy the symbols the best I can, and nobody will be the wiser."

Suddenly Scarlett felt as though a new burden had settled on her shoulders, replacing the fear of returning to Charleston. She realized for the first time now that she was exhausted. "I'll sort it all out tomorrow," she decided, barely able to place Colum's letter and the bible pages back into the envelope before she collapsed into a dark and fitful sleep.

* * *

It was a quarter past six o'clock before Rhett and Cat returned to the suite, armed with a dinner of fried bass and grilled vegetables. Mrs. Rooney, neé O'Shea, cast a withering glance when she heard the duo marching down the hall, humming for all to hear, "Peg in a Low Back'd Car." Cat had the sense to cover her laughs with her hand, but her father gawfed out loud.

Some Irish-Americans, including Mrs. Rooney, found it all right to visit Ireland but totally inappropriate to bring it back with them.

"Mama!" squalled Cat, her hands full with the basket of bread. There was no response, so she tried again, "Mama!"

"Scarlett!" added Rhett to the bellowing. Both fully expected for Scarlett to pop out her room, red faced, and mutter something about "keeping quiet in public."

Still no Scarlett, he thought. Well, if she refuses to come to us, we'll come to her. "Come on, Cat, let's find your mother." But Cat refused to go any farther than the doorway.

"Mama sleep. Cat doesn't want to bother," she declared, and crossed her arms.

"Scarlett," whispered Rhett softly, shaking her arms. "Scarlett, come on, it isn't like you to take a nap before supper."

Scarlett woke with a gasp and a squeak. "Don't," she hissed, pulling away from his touch.

Rhett backed off. Then he slammed the door. "Now you tell me what's the matter," he said loudly. "Are you so repulsed by me?"

"No, it's..."

"Just last week you were caterwauling about how much you loved me. Now I can't even touch you without you cringing. Even when you were desperately in love with your stupid honorable Mr. Wilkes, you still let me touch you. In fact, the only time you ever refused me was when-" suddenly he was aware of Cat's presence in the other room. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It was when you didn't want any more children." His dark eyes were searching her face, desperately looking for reaction to his words. He didn't find what he was looking for, and his face twisted back into its mask of dark rage.

Scarlett's face was also a mask, but it was harder to read than his rage. It was blank, expressionless, emotionless, tired. Only her eyes showed her true feelings of hurt and bitter disappointment. "I can't," she said dully.

"Can't what?"

She took a breath. "I can't have any more children."

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm like Melly now, I guess. I want them but I can't have them."

"How do you know?" he asked faintly, his eyes grasping for truth in her words.

"Cat's birth... took everything from me. Between the fall and her being born, my insides are too damaged."

"So," he sucked in breath.

"Getting pregnant could kill me."

His breathing turned loud, shaky. "And you know for certain?"

"Cat is my last child. I wanted, needed to tell you, but I didn't know how you would take it."

"What do you mean?" he said harshly, feeling as though she had slapped him in the face.

"You love children. I wasn't sure you'd marry me again if you knew that I couldn't give you any more."

His eyes turned gentle, chastising: "Scarlett, I watched Anne struggle with two pregnancies. I watched her die desperate to give me a child. My son only lived for four days, Scarlett. In those four days I realized that I would rather the mother live than for me to be proud papa to twenty children."

She gave a small cry when he swooped down on her and held her crushing against his body. "Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder as she let a few nervous tears splash onto his sleeves.

* * *

Scarlett stood in front of the tri-mirror and admired her new evening gown. It was a daring princess cut bosom done in gold-and-navy striped silk. The sleeves were three-quarter with elegant gold silk puffs, and the train was cleverly narrow below a bustle with a giant navy bow. Rhett had declared it gaudy but had approved the dress nonetheless, on the condition that he choose the other pieces that would create her new wardrobe. Scarlett had quietly mentioned that all of the nice dresses that Daisy Sims had designed for her for the Season had been left behind at Ballyhara and were most likely destroyed by the fire that had claimed the town.

At least Lord Fenton's gigantic pigeon's blood rubies were safe in the care of Mrs. Sims, who would return them to the Earl of Fenton when Scarlett's letter arrived at her home. And as for the spectacular wedding dress that Daisy was making for Scarlett and Luke's wedding, it would still be made and shipped to America. Too bad she wouldn't have the rubies to wear with it, and too bad that the dress wouldn't be finished until after Rhett and Scarlett were quietly remarried.

"Hazel, will you help me with getting out of this dress?" called Scarlett to the dressmaker's servant. How good it is that there is an excellent seamstress aboard the _Brian Boru_, she thought with a grin. And I suppose the money isn't bad for Mrs. Trawling. Hazel quickly entered the room, her arms full of Scarlett's gowns. Most were in proper ivory, lavender, rose, and dove gray, but there were also a few in bright swatches of color. "My goodness Hazel, Mrs. Trawling must have simply an army of women to make so many in only two weeks!" Scarlett gushed, feeling like a young child in a confectioner's shop.

"Well, ma'am, there are dozens of young Irish girls in third class that are paying their way to America by working for Mrs. Trawling."

"Yourself included, Hazel?"

"No, ma'am, I am Mrs. Trawling's full time apprentice," explained the girl, whose voice could distinctly be recognized as English.

"Well, I'm glad that I could help those girls get to America."

"They're very grateful, ma'am. They spend hours talking about what sort of woman could afford twenty new dresses." Hazel blushed. "I apologize, ma'am, it was not my place to repeat gossip."

"Nonsense, Hazel, I don't mind. In fact, I would love to meet some of these girls before we dock tomorrow."

* * *

Hazel nervously lead Scarlett down several flights of stairs and a ladder or two until they came to a locked gate. "What is this here for, Hazel?" asked Scarlett innocently.

The girl shuttered at the question, then answered as kindly as she could, "It's to keep the bottom classes from going out on deck and mingling with the first class passengers."

Scarlett frowned sharply. "What if the boat ran into trouble and we needed to 'abandon ship,' as they say?"

"They would keep the gate locked to prevent the third class passengers from getting on the lifeboats before the luxury class."

"Oh my," said Scarlett thinly, regretting ever asking the question. Some things are better left unknown, she thought sadly.

Hazel produced a key, unlocked the gate, and smiled grimly. "Welcome to third class, Mrs. Butler."

* * *

Scarlett couldn't keep her mind off the fact that they were somewhere in the belly of the boat. The moan of machinery hardly let her forget it.

"This place is called Steerage, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett, pale, nodded and clung to a pipe queasily. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to be seasick. It was just so dark and so hot and so foul. The air was stale with the smell of vomit and unwashed bodies. It reminded Scarlett drastically of the hospital during the War, and she had to repress her churning stomach.

Hazel waited patiently for Scarlett to recover herself. She was familiar with the reaction- on every trip there was always some fine lady who wanted to give her thanks in person. In fact, Hazel looked forward to the reaction. Sometimes the lady would find their condition so deplorable that she would send a severe complaint to the steward of the _Brian Boru_, who would quickly provide clean water and better food for the third classers until the lady was appeased. So, for at least a few days, the low ranks could get the attention they rightfully deserved. But to the rankling of Hazel, and _Brian Boru_ staff like her, the whole thing was quietly hushed when the advocator thought she had made a permanent difference.

Hazel started. Scarlett had been saying something to her. "-always like this?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's like this on every ship Mrs. Trawling and I have ever served on."

Scarlett moaned with pity. My God, if only I could do something! she thought. This was exactly what Hazel had hoped she would think.

They approached the living quarters now. "Do they work here?" asked Scarlett.

"No," responded Hazel, "they would get the clothes all mussed. The lucky ones, the ones that Mrs. Trawling employs, get to work in a large chamber in second class." She unlocked the narrow door to the girls' sleeping compartment. "Here we are."

There were rows upon rows of bunk beds, crammed in so that the isle way was nonexistent. "These girls were lucky, Mrs. Butler. All old enough to work were employed this time. But sometimes there isn't a rich lady looking for a new wardrobe, and all must pay their own way to America. Of the about seventy girls in the third class this voyage, forty-nine were able bodied workers."

Hazel blew a little whistle that hung around her neck with the key. All of the girls sat up from their beds. Some were tiny, no older than Cat, and some were in their late teens, but all were sunk-eyed and scrawny from the sicknesses that passed rampantly through Steerage. "Girls, this is Mrs. Butler."

A ripple of chatter passed through the dark room. Their voices were distinctly Irish. "Oh, hello everyone. I'm Mrs. Butler." Scarlett felt timid all of a sudden.

Hazel took over. "Mrs. Butler has come to giver her thanks to you for the excellent job you did on her gowns." Another ripple of excitement. "Do you have anything you would like to ask her?"

Scarlett started. Hazel had made no mention of the fact that they would be asking her questions. "My name is Casey Shum. Did you like Ireland, Mrs. Butler?" piped up a voice in the back.

After a little hesitation, Scarlett replied, "Ireland was very lovely, Casey."

"My name is Brigid O'Leary. How long did you stay?"

"Eh, four years," said Scarlett slowly.

Brigid again: "Why did you stay so long?"

Scarlett smiled, and for a moment she forgot the deplorable conditions of Steerage and focused in on the memories of Ireland she had cast aside when she boarded the _Brian Boru_. "I stayed because it was so lovely. And because my family needed me there." A sigh settled through the girls as they too reflected on their homelands.

"My name is Gloria O'Conner." Scarlett's eyes widened as she heard the familiar name. "What part of the country did you stay in?" The child's voice indicated that she was about five. Too old to be Kathleen's. And besides, Colum's sister had had only boys so far.

"Well, Gloria, I bought a town-"

"Bought a town!" interrupted a new voice. "You're a landlord?"

Scarlett felt her blood rising as she struggled to defend herself. "Who am I addressing, please?"

A young woman of about sixteen rolled out of her bunk and stood eye to eye with Scarlett. "Mary O'Conner, Mrs. Butler. I'm bound to be a lady's maid in Charleston to Mrs. Abigail White."

"In Charleston?" A white maid in Charleston? thought Scarlett with disgust. Probably some Yankee woman too afraid of being alone in a room with a darkie.

"Yes, Mrs. Butler, in Charleston, South Carolina. I'm taking my little sister Gloria with me."

"What about the rest of your family, Mary?"

Mary sat back down on the bunk. "My brother Kevin-"

"Kevin O'Conner?" said Scarlett. She hadn't even considered that they could be Kathleen's sisters-in-law.

"Yes, that was his name, God rest his soul." Everyone in the room crossed themselves. Scarlett felt old panic creeping up her spine.

"What happened to him?"

"Well, following the burning of the stables of Sir John Moreland, some English soldiers came into Dunsany and arrested Kevin on charges that he was the, uh, arsonist," she said, struggling with the last word.

"Kevin set the fire?" Suddenly Scarlett felt her loyalties to Sir John, Bart and her loyalties to Kathleen pulling her emotions both ways. If only Kevin hadn't gotten involved! she thought. If only Colum hadn't gotten involved!

"Never!" shouted Mary vehemently, then lowered her voice, "I know my brother very well. He would never do such a horrible thing to innocent creatures. But he confessed to protect his wife and two sons when the English threatened to do something horrible to them. And they hung him, as well as three other men in Dunsany." This last came out in a whisper.

Scarlett stood, frozen, horrified. "What will happen to Kathleen?"

"She has moved farther south towards Galway to stay with some of her new O'Conner relatives. She would have stayed with her own family but their homes and fields were destroyed when Adamstown and Ballyhara went up in flames." Mary's tones were sympathetic and sad. "Most of her family, the O'Haras, were killed when the rest of the village turned on them."

That was the last thing Scarlett heard of Mary's story before the roaring of blood in her ears overwhelmed her. "Mrs. Butler?" squeaked Hazel as Scarlett collapsed in a faint...

* * *

_There was fire. Fire on the water. She tried desperately to swim away, but her legs were frozen from the cold and her petticoats weighed down her waist. "Rhett, Rhett!" she shrieked desperately, but the familiar strong figure was gone, and she was all alone in the freezing, burning ocean._

_No, not alone. "Cat?" she croaked as the figure floated past, bobbing on her back with a smile on her little face, as though she was enjoying a bath._

"_Come on, Mama, Cat's ready to play!" giggled the little girl as her head sunk out of view on the crest of a wave._

"_No! Cat! Come back!" she screamed, struggling to swim to the spot where her daughter had vanished. The flames were getting closer. The current was pulling her towards the burning water, away from her drowning child._

"_Please," she moaned, and turned to face the flames head on as dark shapes loomed within. Why, they were houses, houses burning on the water! Old Katie Scarlett and Colum stood in the doorway of the middle house. "Colum!" she cried, trying to float closer to him. He shook his head, and there was the sound of an explosion. "Colum, no!" she tried, tried to get to him, get his attention._

_It was too late, and she sensed doom for all whom she loved. The house exploded in a blast that knocked her back, pushed her under the water._

_She was falling, falling under the water and could not breathe. Her arms and legs flailed in vain. I let them down. I killed them, she thought slowly. She could see the fiery brightness above like the sun floating on the surface._

_She felt an icy white hand grip hers, saw Melanie's face contort in fear and pain as her black hair whipped around unhindered in the water. The falling slowed, and Scarlett exhaled her last breath. Then it was dark and nothingness.

* * *

_

"She was where?" croaked Rhett as Hazel and Mary lifted Scarlett onto the bed.

"The Steerage," repeated Hazel guiltily. "It was my fault, Captain Butler sir. She wanted to meet the girls that worked so hard on her dresses but instead of me bringing her to their work room I brought her to their living quarters far below..."

The English apprentice continued speaking but Rhett tuned her words out. Scarlett showed no signs of waking up, and Rhett was genuinely worried. Damn that stupid girl for dragging Scarlett down to a place she never should have gone, he thought.

"Forgive me, sir," said Hazel as she hastily backed out of the room. "I shall tarry no longer. The doctor's on his way down." Making a short, nervous bow, the dressmaker's assistant hastily exited, feeling disappointed about the outcome of her attempt.

"Scarlett, Scarlett, come on Scarlett, come on..." said Rhett softly, gently slapping her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. God, her face is so white, he thought frantically.

"Wake up, wake up Mama," joined Cat in a singsong chant, shaking her mother's arm with both hands as she stood on the opposite side of the bed.

Mary, who had stayed behind when Hazel left, looked with concern upon the unconscious woman but did not fail to take stock of the suite. Mary, Mother of God, she thought with delight as she noticed every detail of the suite from its plush royal blue curtains to the grape pattern on the wallpaper to the real china washbasin. Then she took a look at Mrs. Butler's husband. I heard Miss Hazel call him 'captain.' He sure is dashing enough to be one, she thought. Drawing the courage to speak to the man, she began, "Captain Butler, sir, I feel as though this might have been my fault."

Rhett turned, surprised that there was someone still in the room, though his face did not show it. An Irish girl, he thought passively. Square chin, blue eyes, strawberry blonde hair. She might be a relative of Scarlett's. I certainly wouldn't know. One Irishman- or woman- looks the same as the next on this ship. "Your name is?" he said a little bit too bluntly.

A shiver of fear went down her spine as he rose from his knees. "M-Mary O'Conner, sir."

Rhett did not fail to notice that the girl was frightened. Catch more flies with honey, he reminded himself with a chuckle under his breath. "Now, Miss O'Conner, how do you feel that you're the cause of Scarlett's "spell." Being in Steerage alone makes any unaccustomed man ill. I ran a boat myself once."

Mary frowned, feeling her anger at the upper class returning as her girlish fear fled. We've festered in Steerage while lots of other people have enjoyed an easy ride, she thought. A landowner and a boat captain. They're right for each other, then. "I know some people have difficulties with the, eh, _atmosphere_ of belowdecks. What's left of my family has rotted there for two weeks."

It was Rhett's turn to frown. He hadn't meant to upset the girl. "I ran a riverboat," he tried to explain, "Gambling, not Atlantic crossings." The truth hammered at him, and he was forced to tell the rest: "And a blockade boat during the War to deliver cotton to England." Damn, he thought as the girl's Irish temper flared even more at the hated word 'England.' She stared with steel blue eyes, her body posture stiff.

"If you'll allow me to explain, _sir_, I'll tell you what caused Mrs. Butler to faint."

"Please," he said, feeling that the girl's Irish temper had bested him without saying a word.

"I was a' telling Mrs. Butler that Kathleen O'Conner, my sister-in-law, had moved south to a village outside of Galway following my brother's hanging in Dunsany." She stopped, looking to see if there was any reaction from Capt. Butler. Only an impassive flicker in his eyes when she said 'Dunsany' gave her any clue if he knew what she was talking about.

"Kathleen?" disrupted Cat. "She's Cat's friend."

Rhett turned to his small daughter. "You know Kathleen?"

Cat nodded. "She's Colum's sister."

"Colum?" asked Mary.

"Father Colum Terrence O'Hara. He is Mrs. Butler's friend and cousin," replied Rhett, beginning to piece together the story as well as Scarlett's reaction to it.

"Cat's godfather," added Cat.

"And Cat's godfather," agreed Rhett.

"So my sister-in-law is Mrs. Butler's cousin. That means..."

"Scarlett's maiden name is O'Hara."

"Oh. _Oh!_" gasped Mary as she hit on the last piece.

"What?" Rhett said urgently.

"I told Mrs. Butler that in the uprisings following the burning of Ballyhara and Adamstown, the townspeople turned on the O'Haras for some reason. Most of the O'Hara family was killed with-" Mary stopped, realizing that Cat was sitting there with wide eyes.

"Big stones?" asked a frightened Cat.

Mary stood up, distressed. "I should go, Captain Butler sir. Third class is forbidden from the upper decks." Before Rhett could protest, Mary had vanished like an apparition.

"It's okay Kitty Cat," coaxed Rhett as he embraced his scared daughter. Her fright melted away in her vigorous little struggle to escape the hug, and she skittered away to her own room with a self-satisfied smile.

"Silly Rhett."

* * *

There was movement in the bed, and Rhett returned quickly to his post, sitting on the edge of the bedspread. Scarlett opened her green eyes suddenly, and they were full of such intense pain that Rhett's breathing stopped for a moment. "I killed them," she said weakly.

"It wasn't your fault, Scarlett."

The pain retracted from her eyes. They were no longer sharp but dull and glassy. He wiped the beads of cold sweat from her forehead. She recoiled from his touch once more, but this time he wouldn't allow it. His mouth was on hers, hard, crushing, and she responded before she even knew what was happening. The kiss was urgent, desperate for both parties. She wanted to forget her nightmare, and his lips tended to block out everything that rattled around inside her head. He wanted to make her forget it.

It quickly escalated from there, with his hands undoing the buttons on the front of her dress. "Wait," she blurted out. "Not now. Cat." He nodded, disappointed, and helped her fix her clothes. The presence of their daughter in the other room had seriously hindered their lovemaking on this trip, but they still found time. For example, after she was safely asleep.

Scarlett was jittery, slightly on edge. "That was too close," she warned him. He grinned, and she pinched his shoulder hard. She fell serious again and explained the feeling that she couldn't shake. "I killed my family, Rhett. I know I did. They killed them because I was The O'Hara and I failed Ballyhara."

"They were filled with an insane rage, my pet. You could have done nothing to protect your family except get killed yourself. But I am genuinely sorry for your loss, Scarlett."

"Thank you, Rhett," she whimpered, burying her face in his shoulder.

* * *

**Author's Note: Certain liberties must be taken with every piece of fan fiction. For instance, Colum's confession letter is based off of the television miniseries _Scarlett: The Greatest Love Story Ever Told_. Although it probably wasn't Ms. Ripley's intent to imply such a relationship, it is a popular base that was utilized in the movie. Therefore, even if you have an issue with a priest falling in love with his cousin, it was not my idea originally, and you must take it up with the writer of the screenplay, not me.**

**The rest of the ideas follow Mitchell's and Ripley's canon accurately. I'm not one for changing the details of the book as of yet, and I probably won't in the future if I can help it. I am not perfectly accurate in the dates of certain events, but let us assume for fiction's sake that Cat is three years old and the time frame is May 1876. If anyone can provide a more accurate time frame for the end of the book due to research, I'm open to the suggestion.**

**All recognizable characters from the two books, _Gone With the Wind _and _Scarlett_, belong to Margaret Mitchell, the Margaret Mitchell Estate, or to Alexandra Ripley.**

**Please Review! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Reparations**

**Chapter Two

* * *

**

_Monday, May 29th, 1876_

_Docks of Savannah, Georgia_

"Do you know how long it will take the third classers to disembark?"

This question, preceded by a tentative tap on the shoulder, had really surprised Scarlett. The speaker was a woman, slightly shorter than Scarlett, with honey blonde hair, dark eyelashes, and a very conservative dress and bonnet of a shade of rose. Scarlett blinked for a moment, trying to regain her words, and found to her astonishment tiny reflections of herself in the woman's unusual reddish-gold eyes.

"Well, I can't rightly say," she demurred, for lack of a better answer.

"Oh, how silly of me!" gasped the woman as she remembered her manners. "You must think me rude. My name is Abby Starling- er, I mean, White." Scarlett looked confused. "I'm sorry; I seem to have my own name confused. You see, I was just married last month, and my old surname tends to interfere with my new surname. I'm Mrs. Wendell White."

"Indeed," said Scarlett coolly, unfamiliar with the name but unwilling to admit it.

"I'm not really such a stupid creature," Abby apologized, "and I don't usually talk to strangers like this. But you just looked so nice, like an old friend I'd yet to meet."

There was something poetic about these words, but Scarlett did not recognize that aspect. All she knew is that this Mrs. White seemed like a decent sort of person, not one to scorn her past actions. The thing that Scarlett was most vulnerable to right now was not the contempt of former friends and disgruntled family, but the scorn of complete strangers that knew her by reputation only. If only her reputation wasn't so very tarnished! So, without putting the thought to words, Scarlett (Hamilton Kennedy Butler) O'Hara decided right there, in the middle of the bustling port, that she would be completely frank about her past misdeeds from that moment on, despite the consequences.

"I'm Scarlett O'Hara, soon to be Mrs. Rhett Butler, again." Scarlett couldn't quite put her finger on what caused her to add 'again,' but something within her commanded her to be perfectly honest with this perfect stranger.

"Again?" said Mrs. White delicately. "You mean, _divorce_?"

Scarlett nodded sadly. There was nothing in her declaration of honesty that didn't say she couldn't spin the truth to look like she was the victim.

"Well, at least you patched things up. And with Rhett Butler!" she exclaimed, letting Rhett's name roll deliciously off her tongue, "Of Charleston fame?" Scarlett nodded again.

"Your maiden name is O'Hara. Oh, my, then you're Irish. But you don't sound Irish!" Mrs. White was rather flustered again.

"My Pa was from Ireland," said Scarlett calmly. "I was raised in Northern Georgia, Clayton County to be exact. I may not sound like I'm Irish, but you should hear my daughter."

"Daughter! Oh, what's her name?" gushed Abby. "I do so love children."

"Her name is Katie Colum, but we call her Cat."

Scarlett's smile faded slowly as she realized where she had heard this woman's name before. _My God_, she thought, she's the woman that Mary O'Conner has come to work for. "Mary and Gloria will be some time in coming, I'm afraid," said Scarlett casually. "You see, third class is rather far down in the ship."

It was Abby's turn to be confused. "You know Mary O'Conner?"

Scarlett's face turned bitter as she imagined this new-forged friendship withering, so she picked her words to be carefully optimistic. "They're my cousin's sisters-in-law."

Abby's face puckered with dismay. "So they're related to you. How lovely," she said, sounding distressed.

Scarlett relaxed when she saw that Abby was genuinely trying to be nice about the fact that Scarlett's relatives were her new servants. "It's alright, Mrs. White. I can accept my roots enough to know that many of the girls in my father's family are lady's maids in America. My cousin Bridie works in Boston. I'm not opposed to any of my kin working for a nice lady like you."

"Oh, no, they're not working for me!" exclaimed Abby. "I could never keep white servants. It would just be too... strange. No, they're going to be working for my mother-in-law, whose name is also, unfortunately, Mrs. Abigail White. Imagine picking a bride with the same name as your mother!"

"That must be awful," Scarlett mock-sympathized. Oh thank goodness, thought Scarlett, then they won't be her servants. I can't abide for women that feel too high-and-mighty to have darkies. Her mother-in-law must be a fright!

The worry faded from Mrs. White's face. "Please, call me Abby."

"Scarlett," she responded warmly, for Scarlett knew how to be warm when she wanted to be. She looked around and frowned. "I seem to have lost my husband and daughter."

"Oh, dear. Will they be hard to find?"

"I doubt it," said Scarlett with surprising good humor. "We were planning to walk to that garden not too far from here. Are you familiar with it?"

"Yes, I must say that I am. You see, I grew up in Savannah."

"Really?" said Scarlett with interest. "My mother was raised here, too."

"In what family?"

"The Robiliards," said Scarlett, watching with pure joy the expression of awe on Abby White's face. "And my first husband was a Hamilton. I have more family than I can account for!" This was said in a sneaky, scheming voice, as though Scarlett was sharing an intimate secret.

"The Robiliards of Savannah _and_ the Butlers of Charleston? You certainly have high class kin, Scarlett."

"And low class. And I'm proud of both."

The two women walked towards the gangplank of the _Brian Boru_ as third class began pouring out into the sunshine, many desperately shielding their eyes.

Making friends had never been one of Scarlett's high priorities, at least until she went to Ireland. Colum and Kathleen had opened her eyes to a closeness that not even her childhood best friend, Cathleen Calvert, could match. Now that Colum was dead and Cathleen and Kathleen were God knows where, Scarlett was eager to have such a relationship again.

But she had never expected to find it within eight minutes of the arrival of the _Brian Boru_.

Abigail Starling White was a different sort of woman altogether than the women she had grown up with. Certainly not what one would expect from gentle Savannah breeding and elegance. She was as eager to please as Melanie had been, but had a vivacious vitality where Melly had been a delicate, gentle creature. Scarlett herself had been acclaimed for her vigor, but Abby seemed to exude it without even trying. And unlike Scarlett, whose vigor had been the cause of rather unladylike behavior, Abby's was tempered with a gentle honesty.

"You remind me of Sallie," said Scarlett thoughtfully as they waited for Mary and Gloria.

"Sallie?"

"You mean you don't know her?" said Scarlett, aghast. "Your husband is from Charleston he's never mentioned Sallie Brewton? What ever is the matter with Wendell?"

Abby giggled. "Well, you'll have to point her out to me when we go back to Charleston."

Scarlett grinned. "It won't be too hard to pick her out."

Her sharp green eyes spotted the O'Conner sisters, and she waved frantically. Too bad it was unladylike to shout to them.

* * *

Scarlett, Abby, Mary, and Gloria bounced up and down through the broken cobblestones in the White carriage as it headed for Les Petits Jardins. The Little Gardens, as they were called, were the work of the Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee. Abby explained, "My mother, Mrs. Betsy Starling, led the committee directly after the War. Despite Sherman's best efforts, our family retained most of its former wealth. The Starling Family donated the Statue of Brethren in the center of the gardens, as well as the money to maintain the azalea bushes."

Scarlett nodded to show she was listening, but in truth her mind was a million miles away. Could she really go back to Charleston, even with the supporting shoulder of Rhett, Sallie, and Abby? Certainly she had made a fool of herself there- flirting with Middleton Courtney, making an enemy of Rosemary, disappearing to Savannah without making her goodbyes in person like a respectable lady.

"Here we are, Scarlett darling," informed Abby as the carriage lurched to a stop. "Shall I take your bags with me?"

"With you?" sputtered Scarlett, drawn back to life. What promises have I made? she thought, guilty for not listening.

"Yes, Scarlett, with me. Of course you're coming to stay with me at Vérité! I can't let you put yourself up at some hotel; what kind of friend would I be?"

Scarlett had intended on staying with her aunts Eulalie and Pauline while in Savannah, but this was an example of Southern Hospitality that she just could not refuse. How I missed it! she realized. "Of course," agreed Scarlett. "I just don't know how Captain Butler will react to such a sudden change of plans."

"You'll fix everything up just right," assured Abby, "I have full confidence in you."

"Mrs. White, I do believe we know each other too well for such a brief meeting."

"That I'm sure of," agreed Abby. "Now if you have any trouble finding my home, you can ask anybody. It's as well known as that pink mansion of your aunts."

* * *

Scarlett, feeling that one complication had been sorted out, marched confidently out into Les Petits Jardins with a smug smile on her face. At least I won't have to stay with my prissy aunts, fussing over me sharing a room with Rhett when we're divorced, she thought. How easy this whole thing has been! And how lovely I look in this new cotton dress!

Scarlett couldn't help but love being in new clothes, despite the change of heart she had had about them in Ireland. If only I wasn't forced back into a corset, she scowled. But there was no avoiding them, and since she had decided to be a great Charleston lady, she had to get used to Victorian propriety again,

She whistled a few notes to a song she couldn't quite remember. She was an awful singer but a fairly decent whistler, and had gotten better when she practiced by herself in Ballyhara. Too bad whistling was unladylike, too.

"Rhett!" she called to the familiar figure a little ways down the flowered path.

"Scarlett," he said with relief. "We thought we'd lost you for good. Now, what did you do with the bags?"

"Abby has them," she said offhandedly.

"Abby?" he repeated.

"Mrs. Abigail White, junior. Her husband is from Charleston. Perhaps you know him. His name is Wendell White."

Recognition dawned on Rhett's face. "I went to primary school with his father, Joseph. But didn't Joe marry an Abby?"

"Like father, like son," said Scarlett as she rolled her eyes.

"So, my pet, you've made a friend."

"Yes, and we're going to stay with her at Vérité." Her tone was demanding and final.

"Fine," he said, agreeing quicker than she expected. Scarlett smiled flirtatiously, satisfied. She had failed to see the change in Rhett's expression when he heard the name of the house.

Vérité was the Starling's family home on the famous Saint Martine Boulevard, a French community. It was painted bright yellow, as many other houses on the boulevard were painted reds and golds and blues. All of the houses were old, but they disguised this fact under fresh coats of paint. On St. Martine Blvd., all were separated by thick lilac bushes, which had been sculpted and maintained as hedges by the community. Good hedges made good neighbors in the St. Martine district.

Before it was the Starling's, the house had been the Souhait's, a strongly hated French family, for six generations. The last of the Souhait's was a powerfully ambitious woman named Elizabeth, called Betsy.

She married Marshall Starling fresh from Annapolis, Maryland, who came from a very old American family. This was a marriage of convenience, as was often the case, but it allowed for Marshall to become a Navy General in the War and gave Betsy Souhait Starling the money she needed to claim social status like none ever before.

Abby was their only daughter.

So when Rhett learned that Scarlett had been invited to stay with Abigail Starling White, the daughter of a war hero and a social queen, he knew that Scarlett had unwittingly redeemed herself in the eyes of Savannah. And if she could do that in stiff necked Savannah, who knew what she could do in Charleston? Stranger things have happened, Rhett thought pleasantly.

* * *

Scarlett marched sturdily through the red brick Square and down the wide street of Savannah's downtown district. She felt slightly strange, as if she was floating along. This was rewinding history- she had made this same walk four years before, maid in tote, going to meet her O'Hara cousins for the first time.

This time, of course, they would not be strangers to her. And this time she brought, in stead of Pansy, her daughter Cat and the two Irish sisters, Mary and Gloria O'Conner.

Turning down several streets to get to her destination, she began to hear the small steps of three year old Cat beginning to lag behind. "Would you like me to carry you, Kitty Cat?"

"No," retorted Cat and redoubled her efforts.

"We're almost there," encouraged Scarlett to her panting little girl. "In fact, we are there."

Mary and Gloria, unaware of the destination, looked with distain at the string of blue and white houses, used to the grandeur of the highest classes.

Looking both ways to see if anyone was watching, Scarlett tread lightly to the lower level kitchen door. Without knocking Scarlett pushed it open.

A familiar red head stood up fast from where she was tending the kitchen. "Why, Cousin Scarlett! I never hoped to see you again in my kitchen!" exclaimed Maureen O'Hara.

"Hello Maureen," returned Scarlett, grateful for the familiar voice of her friend. "You see, I've brought some friends." Cat peeked her head shyly out from behind her mother's skirts.

"Why, that can't be Baby Cat!" cried Maureen. "But you look so much bigger from the last time you saw us, honey."

"Cat _is_ bigger," explained Cat calmly.

"Of course you are Kitty Cat," agreed Scarlett. "Maureen, I would like you to meet Mary and Gloria _O'Conner_."

"As in _Kathleen_?" said Maureen carefully.

"So you know the news from Ireland," said Scarlett with a lump in her throat.

Maureen nodded. "We got a letter from Molly, of all people." Scarlett sat down shakily, her face in her hands as she tried to block out the image of Ballyhara burning.

"We know you got out on the skin of your eyeteeth, Cousin Scarlett. We hold no ill will or blame towards you," said Jamie, coming in from the next room."

"Thank you," said Scarlett hoarsely. "I just really needed to hear that from you." Maureen patted her shoulder.

"Let's talk about something a bit lighter, shall we? Have you heard about David? He's going to marry an heiress." Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "Well, not really an heiress in the strictest sense. But he was Julie's father's assistant, and when her father dies, she'll inherit the business and David will have it for himself. Of course we always expected David to go far- no O'Hara since Uncle Andrew has had such a head for business, except for you, my dear. The wedding will be in August (sit down Mary and have some real breakfast. I'm sure Cousin Scarlett was too eager to come to eat proper) and you and Cat are most certainly invited..."

* * *

_THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 1876_

_THE HOME OF MRS. ETHEL BAKER_

_Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee, "BEAUTIFICATION" SECTOR_

Scarlett bit her tongue, hard, as she managed to prick her thumb above the thimble for the third time this afternoon. She had never had the patience for fine needlework. Staunching the flow of blood with the rag she kept in her lap for that purpose, she gave Abby a thin lipped smile, but her eyes were scowling. _Poor dear,_ responded Abby's own reddish-gold ones. Mrs. Baker was bragging about her newest grandchild, oblivious to the silent conversation carried on by two of the members of her circle.

The "Beautification" sector of the Confederates of Savannah Memorial Committee was dedicated to the upkeep of Les Petits Jardins as well as all memorial gardens, statues, and plaques within city limits. Because it was Abby's family that paid for this upkeep, Abby was the co-chairman of the sector, along with Ethel Baker who kindly donated her house for the meetings of the sector.

All of this meant that twice a week Abby dragged Scarlett with along with her to these horrendously boring sewing circles.

"_Now Scarlett," Abby had warned, "be careful to show no interest in the financial aspects of the sector, even if the girls are planning something way outside our budgets. Most of these ladies know nothing about business, and those that do know better than to show it. Mother and I will handle them in private, so that they don't feel embarrassed."_

_Scarlett had frowned and replied, "Don't tell me Savannah ladies are too stupid to manage a budget. I'm sure that they all run their households with maximum efficiently."_

_Abby laughed. "Oh, but Scarlett, they would never admit it!"_

_Suddenly Scarlett was struck with the difference between Savannah ladies and Charleston ladies: Savannah ladies were too proud to admit their smarts, while Charleston ladies were too proud not to admit them. _

"_I aught to go back to Charleston, Abby. They may not be my kind but they're a lot closer to my kind than these Savannah ninnies."_

"_Can you hold out for another week?" begged Abby, "I can't leave Savannah until Wendell returns from up north, and I don't want to feed you to the wolves just yet."_

So Abby and Scarlett struck a bargain- Scarlett would be the perfect lady and attend all of the meetings with Abby, and then their two households would leave Savannah for Charleston. Together.

"Cassy," said Abby softly to Mrs. Baker's parlor maid, "would you go to the trouble to fetching a fresh pot of tea. This one has grown cold."

"Yes'm," replied Cassy automatically.

Scarlett stuck her tongue out at Abby from behind her embroidery piece. I've been trying for ten minutes to get a fresh kettle, she thought with irritation, and at one word from Abby they jump to fetch it. Being away so long must have made me forget something important- the darkies always know who's respectable and who's not.

Scarlett picked up the smaller scrap of a piece that sat in the vacant chair to her left. This little attempt at stitches belonged to her daughter Cat. Scarlett had never tried teaching Ella or Bonnie at the tender age of three, but she found Cat to be a bright, if not eager student. It was amusing how Cat's attentions could shift from wanting to play outside to wanting to sew her letters quietly by her mother's side.

It was Cat's presence alone that warmed the hearts of the Beautification Sector of the CSMC to Scarlett's presence. They had heard the gossip from her aunts about how she was a divorced woman, though Scarlett would have never guessed they knew. But a woman who cared for a child so much couldn't be all bad, especially such a beautiful and unruly one as Cat Butler. And hadn't Captain Butler been the one to divorce her? And wasn't Abby White so very devoted to her?

So, working from the innermost circle outward, Scarlett became an accepted member of Savannah high society in just two short weeks. Rhett heard from the husbands of the Committee that Scarlett was praised by all tongues at dinnertime. And he just laughed.

* * *

"Cat, honey, can I talk to you for a moment?" asked Scarlett on the eve of the last day they spent in Savannah.

"Yes Mama," responded Cat from inside the lilac hedge. She and a little French girl named Lisette had sculpted a fort deep inside the bush, and had filled it with the toys from Cat's Tower. "You may come in."

Ignoring the fact that her dress would probably become soiled beyond saving, Scarlett ducked down and scooted into the hedge on her hands and knees.

"Hello Kitty Cat!" greeted Scarlett to her muddy little daughter. Cat was quite willing to dirty herself, but quite unwilling to dirty the soft quilts that had decorated the inside of her Tower, so there was nothing but mud in the little fort.

"Read Cat a story?" Cat suggested, holding her favorite book of Irish fairy tales.

"In a minute Kitty Cat. I would like to ask you something."

Cat nodded, "Ask."

"Do you like Rhett?" asked Scarlett cautiously.

"Yes," said the child without hesitation.

"Would you like it if Rhett was your Daddy?"

Cat considered this offer for a moment with. She tilted her head and squinted her eyes. Scarlett had asked this question once before, about Lord Fenton. Well, Rhett had turned out to be a much better playmate than Luke, although he didn't give her giant tiaras to parade around in. Perhaps, Cat reasoned, Rhett too would give her a tiara, if he was her daddy.

"Cat would like it very much," decided Cat with a brilliant smile.

"Good," said Scarlett, relieved. "Would you call him Daddy?"

"If you wanted Cat to," assured the child.

"Yes, Kitty Cat, that is what I want."

It was not twenty minutes yet when Rhett returned to Vérité from the train station, tickets in hand.

"Why hello my dears," he said with a tired smile.

"Hello Rhett," smiled Scarlett back.

"Hello Daddy," grinned little Cat. Rhett's dark eyes flew at once to Scarlett's smile, and then to Cat's. Without a word, he bent down and hugged his little daughter tightly.

The matter was settled with that one greeting, and never again would Cat think of Rhett Butler as anyone but her father.

* * *

_SATURDAY, JUNE 10, 1876_

_CHARLESTON TRAIN STATION_

Scarlett clutched her handbag nervously as the steam of the train whooshed out once more. Lorry, the lady's maid that Mrs. Starling had hired for Scarlett in Savannah, held the rest of Scarlett's bags as she blinked in awe at her first look of Charleston harbor.

My, I'm nervous, Scarlett realized shakily. I do hope Abby and Wendell are around here somewhere.

Abby's husband reminded Scarlett faintly of her first husband, Charles Hamilton. He had straw-colored hair and pale, watery eyes but a boyish charm that made Scarlett smile when she first met him. Like his father, Wendell was an investment banker, traveling all over the North and South; he was rarely home.

"G'Morning Miss Abby. G'Morning Mr. Wend," greeted Cat when she spotted her mother's friends.

"Good eyes, Kitty Cat," complemented Scarlett in Cat's ear.

"Good morning Abby. Good morning Wendell," said Scarlett and Rhett in unison in unison.

"Good morning Butlers," said the Whites in return.

"Scarlett," said Abby, pulling her to one side, "I just received a letter from my husband's aunt, the Mrs. White in Atlanta."

Scarlett frowned. She hadn't realized that that Mrs. White was any relation of theirs. "I should have figured the old cats in Atlanta would warn you to stay shy of me, Abby White."

"Don't worry, Scarlett dear, I'm going to write a polite letter back gushing about how simply wonderful you've been to me." She turned away. "Mary darling, please be sure to get all of my bags. I want to be at Mrs. White's house before noon, so that you and Gloria can finally meet your new mistress." Mary O'Conner nodded and shifted a bag underneath her arm. Five-year-old Gloria gave a shy wave to Cat, who had become her friend on the train ride to Charleston.

"Rhett, you have told your mother that you'd be in today, right?"

"Yes, my pet, I wrote her a nice long letter apologizing for not coming to see her the second my boot struck American soil." His eyes were teasing.

"Oh, Rhett, you're awful."

His voice was hard. "And I hate lying to my mother. So your plan better work out."

"I would never intentionally hurt Miss Eleanor. I love her," assured Scarlett.

"My mother's carriage will be waiting for us," said Wendell. "Will you ride with us, Mr. and Mrs. Butler?"

"No thank you," said Scarlett firmly. "We're planning on walking." Behind her, Lorry gave a small groan. "Goodbye Abby, goodbye Wendell. Goodbye Mary and Gloria. I'll be sure to call on you as soon as we are settled."

"The same," agreed Abby, "goodbye Scarlett."

* * *

_THE BATTERY_

_ELEANOR BUTLER'S HOME_

Scarlett fingered the latch on the gate and took a deep, slow breath.

"Are you ready, my pet?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Rhett opened the gate gradually, and took Indian-light footsteps towards the front door. "Hello Tessa. Could you please inform Mrs. Butler that her son has finally come home?"

* * *

**Author's Note: All recognizable characters from the two books, _Gone With the Wind _and _Scarlett_, belong to Margaret Mitchell, the Margaret Mitchell Estate, or to Alexandra Ripley.**

**I would like now to answer a statement that was brought up in the reviews of the first chapter:**

_**Scarlett's Misery wrote, "I'm pretty sure she didn't witness Charles' or Colum's death."**_

**First off, I was referring to the death of Charles Ragland, the English soldier, not Charles Hamilton, her first husband. This death she did witness directly.**

**Second, as to the death of Colum, that was an _indirect_ witness. Even though she was not physically there, his death affected her as though she was right there with Rosaleen Fitzpatrick when Colum was shot to death. I hope you can understand what I mean by that, and I hope I answered your statement well enough.**

**Please Review! Thank you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Reparations**

**Chapter Three

* * *

**

_SATURDAY, JUNE 10, 1876_

_THE BATTERY_

_ELEANOR BUTLER'S HOME_

"Hello Tessa. Could you please inform Mrs. Butler that her son has finally come home?"

The woman grinned good naturedly at Rhett. Tessa was a fair skinned mulatto whose father was Grandfather Butler's child. They were exactly the same age, down to the month, and had grown up together at Dunmore Landing. But while Rhett had been outcasted by the family, Tessa had moved through the ranks of servitude to be the head of household, and had been the only servant who had stayed with the family when the Landing burned.

"I'll tell Miz Eleanor that yore here, Mist' Rhett," she determined, turning to go back to her mistress. Rhett caught her by the arm.

"Now, wait just a darn minute, Miss Tessa. What is all this "Mist' Rhett" business? You don't have a proper hug for your best cousin?" Grinning wryly, Tessa embraced him firmly.

That was the beauty of their relationship. Since Grandfather Butler had chosen to formally recognize Tessa as his granddaughter in his will, the whole of the Butler family were obliged to do the same. Tessa Butler, Negro and servant as she was, was considered an equal by law among all of the grandchildren. Not that everybody agreed- Ross refused to speak to the woman, and Rosemary was quite shy around her, but Rhett loved her like the cousin she was.

"It's good to see ya in a better mood, Rhett. You were mighty pore spirit'd last I saw."

"That's true," Rhett agreed, "But my mood has improved thanks to some news I received when I was away."

Scarlett and Cat took cautious steps toward the porch, careful to move as calmly as possible. Cat, not aware of the circumstances of their situation but aware that she must be quiet, clung to her mother's hand. Could it get any hotter? thought Scarlett with despair under her velvet bonnet. My poor Kitty Cat is almost dying of heat, and it's only the beginning of June! No wonder lowlanders abandon the city in the summer!

"Scarlett," said Rhett lowly, without turning around when Tessa left to announce his presence.

"Yes?" She crept closer.

"I want you to wait in the hallway until I can judge Mother's mood."

"Is Abby here?" she questioned anxiously.

"Her card is on the tray in the hall."

"Good. We'll need her support."

"Play it by ear, my pet. I know you've never been a good liar, so I'll try to keep you out of that sort of situation."

"Rhett?" she said, worry choking out his name.

"Yes, Scarlett?"

"Good luck," she muttered, swallowing hard. I love you! she added in her head.

"Why, thank you," he said, fixing his infamous, incorrigible grin on his face and ducking into the house.

* * *

Abby fluttered her fan a little faster without realizing it. All of Charleston was silently suffering under the unusually intense heat, and as such even the genteel Charleston ladies were a bit snappish and petulant with each other. Not the best time for Scarlett to make her reentrance into Charleston society, but what was one to do?

"More lemonade, Miss Abby?" asked Miss Eleanor carefully.

"Why, thank you, Miss Eleanor," said Abby with equal care, making sure to pour only a mouthful into her glass.

In this delicate dance of overlooking shortages of nice things, each would pretend there was plenty when there was little. Abby knew of course that Rhett supplied his mother with a continuous stream of money, but Miss Eleanor had the good grace not to flaunt this. So, as in the homes of the lesser fortunate, Miss Eleanor provided only one small pitcher of the lemon drink.

Scarlett, on the other hand, knew nothing of the deeper mannerisms of the Society. She had had no hand to guide her on how to be genteelly poor, so she was mostly ignorant. That was why Abby had paid her first call on Eleanor Butler on the same day that Scarlett would make her presence known. Abby hoped to give Scarlett a head start. She had gathered from her seemingly random conversation topics that Scarlett's aunts Eulalie and Pauline were no longer friends with Miss Eleanor.

It seemed that when Rhett divorced Scarlett, the women had actually grown a bit of a spine and had defended their niece. Of course Miss Eleanor had defended her son's choice, unhappy as she was about it (because she "truly had liked and admired the spirited little thing"), and the trio had separated on bitter terms.

When Scarlett returned to Savannah with her ex-husband on her arm again, Eulalie and Pauline had not bustled off to inform Eleanor Butler. They, being the richest women in Savannah, had a cushion of friends to support them when they chose not to tell their former companion.

"Miz Eleanor, ma'am, thare is somebody importan' ta see you," intoned Tessa in the doorway.

"Send them in Tessa," said Miss Eleanor nonchalantly.

Rhett paused for a moment, out of view of his mother, and glanced to Abby. The fan was folded up and dropped on her lap. That was the signal- Eleanor Butler was not in a totally pleasant mood this afternoon. Rhett sighed, gathered himself, and made his presence known. "Hello Mother!" he said warmly.

"Why Rhett!" Miss Eleanor gasped, springing from her seat to greet her oldest son. Then she pretended to frown. "Why have you waited so long to come see me? Your boat landed two weeks ago."

His smile stiffened. "I was tied up a bit in Savannah, Mother. I met some old friends with old business I could not drag myself away from."

Miss Eleanor turned to her guest, aware of her breach in conduct. Hastily repairing the breach, she added, "Rhett, this is Mrs. Abby White, eh, junior. She's from Savannah."

"Ah, Mrs. White," said Rhett, all charm.

"Why, Mr. Butler, I believe we've met."

"We have?" asked Rhett, noncommittally.

"Yes, at the train station this morning. I believe we took the same train to Savannah." Abby's voice was lilting and mellow, utilizing the tone that her mother had trained her to.

"Ah, yes," said Rhett carefully.

"My husband is the son of a classmate of yours," prompted Abby.

"Oh, of course, you're Joseph White's daughter-in-law. Fie on me for forgetting such a beautiful face!" Abby blushed on cue, and covered her face with a fan.

"How have you been, Rhett?" said Miss Eleanor in a low voice, suddenly filled with a sense of worry. The two were acting strange, and she didn't know what to make of it.

Rhett snapped back, the grin on his face remarkable. "I have a surprise for you, Mother. In fact, I have two surprises for you."

"Really?" brightened Miss Eleanor.

"Oh, do let me see them Mr. Butler," gushed Abby. "Surprises are always so lovely."

"Especially Rhett's surprises," agreed Miss Eleanor.

"I'll be right back then," laughed Rhett, ducking into the hallway. "Scarlett?"

"Yes?" Scarlett whispered hoarsely from near the door. She was sitting on the floor with her back to the parlor. She was leaning heavily against the hall table.

"Are you alright, honey?" he said with love in his voice.

"Hot," she admitted, she wiped beads of sweat from her forehead.

"Where's Cat?"

"In the kitchen. Tessa promised a big bowl of ice cream to 'her Rhett's only chile.'"

"Why aren't you with her? I'm sure you could have enjoyed some too."

"I didn't want to be a bother," said Scarlett in a small, pathetic voice.

His voice was heavy with loving humor. "Well, straighten yourself out while I go fetch Cat from Tessa's clutches. Next thing I know and Cat will be calling her Aunt Tess."

* * *

"I'll be right back then," laughed Rhett, ducking into the hallway.

That was the second cue, this one for Abby. Here I go, she thought calmly.

Abby stood shakily, glass in hand, swaying slightly. Her face turned very white as she bit her lip until it bled a little. "Abby?" questioned Miss Miss Eleanor worriedly.

Abby grimaced and dropped her tall crystal lemonade glass. It shattered into millions of pieces on the floor. "Oh, my," she gasped, clutching the edge of the table for support.

Miss Eleanor leapt to her feet. "Oh, Abby my dear, are you alright?"

"Just... just a little dizzy," Abby whispered. "Perhaps I should step outside and get some fresh air."

"Yes, of course," said Miss Miss Eleanor distractedly. "It is very warm in here."

Abby minced her way out of the parlor and out the door, giving an exaggerated wink to Scarlett. They owe me one for that performance, Abby told herself. Every woman in Charleston would cluck like hens over her for the next three weeks with "Are you feeling all right Mrs. White?" It was enough to drive a girl to distraction.

But it would be worth it. Scarlett was her closest friend, and Abby was sure she could arrange her return into Society.

* * *

Rhett scooped up his three year old daughter and wiped the ice cream mustache off her face.

"Cat's not finished yet," protested the child.

"I know, Kitty Cat, but it's time for you to meet your grandma."

"Grandma?" asked a suspicious Cat.

"Yes, honey chile, Miz Eleanor is your grandma," explained Tessa. "Remember the nice lady I tole you about?"

"Yes," said her little voice, convinced.

"Let's go visit her now, Kitty Cat," coaxed Rhett.

"Will Mama come too?"

"Yes, your mama will come too," assured Rhett. He took a look at the front of her dress. Little dribbles of melted ice cream had formed dark stains on her red dress. "Oh, Tessa, it's a good thing you're not a mammy."

"Why's dat?"

He gave her a serious look. "The whole front of Baby's dress is covered in ice cream."

Tessa laughed. "Well, Rhett, I may be no mammy, but I's a momma."

"How so?"

"Ma husban' Marcus has a little boy name' Moses."

"And you let Moses run around with ice cream dribbled down his shirt?"

"Well, seh, Moses don't get no ice cream." She said this with a regretful air.

"Is that so? Moses don't get no ice cream?" His eyes were kind.

"Yesseh, that's ta truf."

"Well, you take this here ice cream and get it to your little boy with my complements."

Tessa grinned gratefully. "Well, thank ya Mist' Rhett. If'n I remember right, you always was one ta get me ice cream when we was chiles."

"That's the truth. And no more of this "Mist' Rhett" business. It makes me feel old when you say it, Tess."

"Fair," agreed Tessa.

"Come on Cat," instructed Rhett as he led his little daughter down the hallway back to the parlor.

"Cat's going to see her grandma," commented Cat offhandedly.

"Is that so?" said Rhett playfully. "Now you wait here for just a moment, Cat. I want to tell Grandma that you're here."

"Okay."

"Mother? What happened to Miss Abby?"

A maid was sweeping up the broken glass. Miss Eleanor looked a little shaken. "Well Rhett, I guess the heat got to her a little. She dropped her glass," she gestured to the floor, "and decided to go outside and get some fresh air."

"It's even hotter outside," said Rhett stiffly. They hadn't intended to alarm his mother.

Miss Eleanor brightened. "Where are those two surprises you promised me?"

Rhett smiled back stiffly. "Well, here's the first one." He ducked out and returned in a flash, holding Cat's hand tightly. Cat smiled boldly and clutched the edge of her skirt to perform a three-year-old's curtsy.

Miss Eleanor turned very white. She looked hard at the child, from her dark features to her fearless little eyes, and knew at once that the girl was her grandchild. She had jet hair and bronze skin but these amazing cat green eyes that reminded her of someone... Her mind could not escape the fact that the child's existence was impossible but could not shake the feeling that the little girl was clearly the child of her son.

"Well, Rhett," said Miss Eleanor weakly. "she's yours?"

Rhett's face was somber, but the edges twitched with nervousness. "Yes," he said weakly.

"Cat," explained Cat.

"What?" said Miss Eleanor sharply.

Rhett explained gently, "Her name is Cat."

"What sort of a name is Cat?" said Miss Eleanor with curiosity that she could not stifle.

"Her full name is Katie Colum."

"Katie Colum?" repeated Eleanor, unsure what to make of the name. It was Irish, no doubt. Which could only mean... "Where is her mother?" she asked carefully.

"That's my second surprise," admitted Rhett, smiling grimly.

Scarlett walked slowly into the parlor, smiling her bright, unmistakable smile. Although nobody had ever told her, Scarlett could smile just as infuriatingly as Rhett could.

A truth unfolded before Eleanor Butler, one that no decent woman would ever dream of unless it was thrown right in her face. The numerous trips to Ireland to buy horses. The little girl with the Irish brogue and Rhett's dark face. Scarlett in the doorway.

A lesser woman would have fainted at the revelation that her favorite son had created a façade of a marriage when he was still in love and in touch with the woman he had so scandalously divorced. And that they had had a child together. "What about Anne?" was all that Eleanor could ask.

"I never hurt her," said Rhett honestly, a look of pain on his face.

Scarlett saw the hurt between mother and son. Hell, she thought miserably, I'm already a fallen woman. Too many have 'cloaked my sins.' I'll be honest and take the blame for this one.

"Miss Eleanor, may I talk to you? Alone?"

* * *

Scarlett sat in the big arm chair and told her all that she could. How relations between her and Rhett had fallen apart (without mentioning the name of Ashley Wilkes) in Atlanta and she had come to fix things in Charleston. How she went to Savannah to celebrate Pierre Robiliard's birthday (including how she had left a note with Rosemary), and how she had been invited to take a little vacation to Ireland by her O'Hara cousins, and how Rhett divorced her and married Anne before she could tell him that she was pregnant. (At this Eleanor blanched a little. No lady ever talked about pregnancy like this.)

"I spent nearly four years in Ireland trying to make a life for myself and for my daughter. Frankly, I never expected to see America, or Rhett, ever again. But after Anne's death, things changed. Rhett finally forgave me for my past... transgressions. We're going to get married soon... again. But I thought you should know everything first."

All her life Eleanor had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world. Not that she didn't know about them- it was just that people tended to avoid that line of subject around a true lady like Miss Eleanor. When the War came, she witnessed these realities. And in ways she was worldlier than Scarlett ever could be.

But at no time in her life had she ever been told every detail, the whole story, not just the watered down gossip. This intimacy suddenly and completely bonded her to her ex-daughter-in-law, tighter than blood.

"Well," Eleanor said tranquilly, "when's the wedding?"

* * *

**Author's Note:All recognizable characters from the two books, _Gone With the Wind _and _Scarlett_, belong to Margaret Mitchell, the Margaret Mitchell Estate, or to Alexandra Ripley.**

**This chapter is quite a bit shorter than the last two, but the next one will be longer. **

**I would like to thank all of the people that have reviewed so far. For having written just two chapters so far, the response is overwhelming!**

**Please Review! Thank you!**


End file.
